The Dream Catcher Diaries

by Alexander Patrick

  When Davey went to university, it created a huge gap in my life and it was not an easy time for him. He struggled to make friends and to be accepted. The other students sidelined him as a freak and he was very lonely. I visited him at every opportunity, as did the rest of our clan, but in the end he was alone in a hostile environment.

  He suffered attacks – verbal and physical abuse – and ridicule. Even Fallon, his very expensive guide dog, was targeted and what made it even harder for him was the fact that the undergraduate course was far below his capabilities. He was, as I say, a genius.

  Before the end of his first term, he was, to a certain extent, saved from the boredom of his studies and the loneliness of his life by a visit from one of the most influential mathematicians of the time. Professor Tony Lawrence from Oxford University came for a visiting lecture and recognised Davey’s genius. He was at first astounded and then excited by this young deafblind man, who had one of the most original brains he had ever met.

  Davey was invited to join the Pandora group. Lawrence was the founding member of this international and elite group that comprised the best mathematicians and physicists in the world. Davey was the youngest in the group by a good fifteen years and, because of his youth, was seen as a future thought-leader.

  Pandora saved him. That term, just before Christmas, Davey was invited to stay with the Lawrences at their home in Oxford. The idea was for him to meet some of the other members of the group. I went with him, of course.

  We had two delightful weeks with the Lawrences, working hard during the day and relaxing with the family in the evening. It was then that we met the two daughters of Tony and Emma Lawrence: Kate aged fourteen and Lydia aged twelve. Both girls fell in love with us. Kate planned to marry me and Lydia planned to marry Davey. What they actually succeeded in doing was giving us both flu.

  I spent my sixteenth birthday in hospital having a number of eye operations. They were trying to save my sight. They only partially succeeded. Unexpectedly, my plans to be a vet had to be abandoned. As I entered my sixteenth year, I was formally categorised under Section Twenty-six as blind. It was to change my life in more ways than I could possibly imagine.

  Chapter 12

  When Crompton left me at our house, I could barely walk. He wanted to stay but he had his orders. He hung around for a while until I waved him on, and then he was gone. It was a great relief.

  I staggered to the back of the house and the glass doors overlooking the garden. Clumsily I broke the catch, slicing into my hand with a piece of glass as I did so. I stumbled in. I must have made quite a noise doing so. I’m not sure; sound was drifting away from me.

  I stepped into the dark room and suddenly found hands around my throat and a knife pressed against me. ‘Gotcha!’ cried a familiar voice, followed by a gasp. ‘Alexander!’ It was Steve. He quickly let go of me. I almost fell but he caught me. ‘Alexander,’ he repeated, more softly this time. He held me and, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I felt safe.

  ***********************

  When my father was fifty-three and I was one, he came down with the flu for the first time. The virus quickly developed into something more serious and, at one point, he thought he would lose his sight or, at best, lose part of it. Either would signal the end of his career as a vet. This was when we discovered how devastating it was for someone like us, with Hynes’ Syndrome, to contract certain flu viruses.

  My father was lucky: he maintained his sight. The story goes that when my mother was guiding him – just after he left hospital and was still blind – she was distracted by one of us and turned, letting him go. He lost his footing and fell, striking his head rather badly. Shortly after that incident his sight returned completely. My mother never liked to be reminded of it, but Robert tended to joke about it anyway.

  When I caught the flu, I was not so lucky. I had assumed that, like my brother and father, I would become a vet. I had spent time with them and Daniel learning the basics on the job. Like my father I had an affinity with animals, even taking up horse whispering, one of his passions. Blindness changed my life. When I knew I could not be a vet, I had no idea what else I could do.

  Although I was actually partially sighted, I was categorised as blind. That was because as well as having good days when I could see almost completely I also had bad days when I needed a white stick. My sight was a bit like a jigsaw puzzle: some of the time just a few pieces were missing, but at other times almost the whole puzzle disappeared – and, as well as this, the missing pieces constantly shifted about.

  At first no one knew why the quality of my sight varied but then, after a series of tests, it was discovered that the level of blindness could be linked to my level of anxiety or stress. So, for example, at exam times, when I was very anxious, I was completely blind. I could take medication but, if I did, it sent me unconscious for the duration of the treatment and groggy for days after, so it was not always a practical solution. That was why I was completely blind for my father’s funeral.

  I never admitted to Davey how poor my sight could be. I could never let him know because, if I did, he would lose his trust in me, and I treasured his trust more than anything else. This is the only thing I ever kept secret from him. I remained honest to him in everything else.

  Because I’d never told Davey, I generally didn’t share the fact that I was blind with anyone else. My family knew and those close to me guessed. But I did manage to fool most people; they just thought I was a clumsy man, prone to ignoring his friends in the street.

  This secrecy surrounding my poor sight was never to leave me. It became a habit with completely unforeseen consequences.

  Chapter 13

  I was being carried upstairs. Gently, I was laid on a bed. I recognised the feel of the bed and the smell. I was in my own room.

  ‘What’s this?’ Davey’s voice.

  ‘Blood.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ Davey never swore but that was definitely his voice. I would have smiled, had I been able to. I recognised his touch. I could feel him groping for my hand; he held it tight. Meanwhile, Steve was gently peeling my clothes off. ‘Is there a lot of blood?’ Davey sounded anxious, adding in a whisper. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘He cut his hand breaking in but there’s also blood coming from his side.’ I could feel Steve touching me. ‘Someone’s bandaged his side but he’s still bleeding.’ I needed to speak to him. I needed to tell him what had happened. But I couldn’t.

  ‘I need to get Daniel,’ said Steve.

  I was shocked. Daniel? Why Daniel? He’s a vet not a doctor. A good vet, certainly, but ...

  Steve bent over me and whispered. ‘Alexander, I’m going to get Daniel to fix you up. He can be here in a few minutes. Simeon is on his way but I can’t wait for him.’

  I wanted to cry out: ‘I need Simeon, he will know what to do!’ but I couldn’t. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even move my hand to sign to Davey. I was locked inside my body and I couldn’t get out.

  ***********************

  Davey used to run his guide dog, Fallon, twice a day; he had permission to run her in the university’s sports and recreation area. He had a key and, every morning and evening, he ran and exercised with her. It could take up to forty-five minutes and kept them both fit. When I stayed, I ran with him. He knew the route perfectly. It was his only way to keep in shape, since the university wouldn’t let him use their gym – he was considered too much of a liability.

  He often ran in the dark or the early-morning light when no one else was around. He was terrified of the bullies and what they might do to him; he had been attacked on a number of occasions.

  He may have been scared, but it never stopped him running.

  Early one October morning, in his first year, he was out at first light and had reached the top of the running track. It rose steeply on one side and he had paused to catch his breath at the summit of the climb. He stood breathing in the fresh smells and feeling the air o
n his body. Davey felt with his whole body; the breeze touched him completely. He was standing immersed in his senses when, suddenly, he was seized by the shoulders. He reacted immediately and began to struggle.

  Arms wrapped themselves around his waist and he lashed out. Another pair of hands grabbed his legs in an effort to drag him to the ground. He began to panic and swung his arms around wildly. His one fist caught someone’s face, his other hit out at his stomach. His arms were pulled roughly behind him and held in a vice-like grip. Still, he struggled, kicking his legs and bending down to head butt whomever it was coming up from the side; it felt like many, but he had no real idea. They were pulling him down to the ground.

  Desperately, he pulled one hand free and reached for his hearing aid, tucked in his trouser pocket. His hand was swiftly yanked out and he was pushed further to the ground. He had his hearing aid clutched in his fist but it was pressed into the earth. He screamed in pain as someone’s heavy boot crushed his hand into the ground and stamped down hard on it. He cried out again as his hand was pulled behind his back. His arms were now locked behind him and his wrists were tied. He was dragged along the ground, still struggling, being punched and kicked as he went. The punishment never stopped him from fighting. This was a deafblind man, fighting unknown assailants, and he never gave up.

  Then he felt himself being thrown into the back of a vehicle. He knew it was a car of some sort by its smell and the vibration of the engine. He was on the floor. Someone kept a foot pressed into his back to keep him quiet. He could barely move within the confined space of the car. In the end, he gave up struggling. It was ten minutes before they stopped and he was dragged out and manhandled across tarmac. He began to struggle again as he realised his freedom was about to end. He knew they had entered a building. The air felt different; he could smell people, sweat, food and urine. He was thrown to the ground. It was a hard cement floor. He lay quiet for some time, just waiting.

  At some point he was hauled upright onto a chair. He felt a table in front of him. He remained in the chair with his hands tucked under his armpits. There was now no way his captors could communicate with him. His left hand throbbed where it had been cut and bruised, his whole body ached from the beating and he had no idea where he was. He guessed he had been taken by some of the students but he did not know what they might have planned for him. He sat silently, with his hands hidden, and waited. Somewhere on the sports field lay a broken hearing aid, and he was anxious about Fallon. At one point, someone tried to prise his left hand free. He fought and was slapped hard on the face. He still wouldn’t release his hand; Davey could be very stubborn.

  How long he sat there he was never sure but, at one point, someone touched his cheek and his neck. He knew that touch. It was his grandfather – my father. Davey leapt up sobbing and threw his arms around him. He had been rescued. It was then he learned who his abductors were.

  It was the police.

  Two police officers had seen him in the sports area and assumed he was trespassing. They had called him; he had not heard. They had waved to him; he had not seen. It had never occurred to them that he was blind and deaf. Why should it? They had placed a hand on his shoulder and he had reacted.

  They were very embarrassed by the whole incident. This was a world very different to our world. Police officers were not meant to attack disabled people; they were not a target.

  My father rarely got angry, but he was furious now. He had no love for the police. He had walked in to find a battered and bruised Davey, a frightened Davey with a crushed hand, Fallon in a pound threatened with being destroyed and a very expensive hearing aid broken beyond repair.

  Yes, he was furious, and they knew it. They paid compensation. They didn’t destroy Fallon, and Davey received an apology.

  Davey was left totally traumatised.

  One of those arresting officers was called John Forrest; it was he who had crushed Davey’s hand and, although the hand was not permanently damaged, it was useless for a few weeks and needed physiotherapy. John realised the significance of damaging the hand of a deafblind person; a simple apology was not enough. He gave it some thought; he knew he needed to do more. He decided to pay Davey a visit.

  This began a deep and lasting friendship between John, Davey and a WPC called Casey Mitchell. Once or twice a week, a police car would arrive at the university to pick Davey up and take him to their gym. He was given full access to their facilities – but most important, the police taught him how to fight. In fact, they taught both of us to fight. Davey was by far the better fighter. He fought barefoot; he could feel the slightest vibration through his feet and he had the capacity to react swiftly to the slightest touch.

  Despite years of separation, the friendship never faltered. Years later I met John at one of the most crucial stage of my life. He became an important part in my life. To a certain extent, he made everything possible.

  Chapter 14

  I lay in my tomb listening to the sounds around me. I had moved from being able to hear nothing to being able to hear everything. I could hear Davey breathing next to me as he held my hand. He was constantly ‘talking’ to me with his hand, reassuring me, telling me what was happening. I swear I could even hear his heart beating and the blood pumping through his veins. I felt I could hear the whole world move and turn. I felt my body press into it, part of the motion of the planet. I swear I felt it all. I swear I heard it all. I was everywhere and nowhere all at once: a part of the drama happening around me and, at the same time, a disinterested observer.

  Daniel had bandaged my hand and side. He failed to see the real problem because he wasn’t looking for it. He had soothed me, pressed water down my throat, injected me with painkillers – all the right things – yet all the time I was slowly dying. I was dying and no one was noticing. My heart would soon stop and no one would know why – until it was too late. I could tell them of course. I knew what was wrong. But I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move and soon I would stop breathing.

  Meanwhile, the Earth continued to rotate and breathe, and I became more and more a part of everything as I moved into nothing: a part of infinity as I moved to extinction.

  ***********************

  I will never forget the day we first met Steve Carter. Davey and I had been surfing. I call it surfing; it was more an exercise in not drowning. But we enjoyed it. It was one of the most exhilarating things that we did.

  We were drying ourselves after our surf. I was pulling things out of bags, rubbing Davey down so he didn’t catch cold and sorting through our clothes. Fallon growled softly under her breath. It was her ‘look out!’ growl. I turned around; squinting to see what was worrying her. I was wearing my sunglasses to protect my eyes from the bright sun.

  I was seventeen years old at the time, partially sighted and so I struggled at first to make out what was happening. Then I realised that someone was approaching us: one of the surfers. I tensed; this probably meant trouble.

  A tall, very thin young man with white hair was approaching cautiously. He came up to our small encampment and nodded to us. ‘Hi,’ he said uncertainly. I played it cool and said nothing. He glanced down at Davey and wet his lips nervously. ‘My name’s Steve,’ he said, then added carefully, ‘Steve Carter.’

  He waited for a reaction.

  I said nothing. I just looked at him. He was, as I say, tall and thin and he had the most beautiful face I have ever seen on a man. Not beautiful in the same way as my brother Robert, but beautiful like a woman. He had full lips, large almond-shaped blue eyes that sharpened at the ends, turning up slightly, and thick dark lashes. High cheekbones and a small aquiline nose completed the perfect face. If he was aware of how beautiful he was he had made every attempt to make himself ugly. His ears had multiple piercings; his nose, lips and left eyebrow were also pierced. His clothes were grubby and shabby. His hair was cut short. It was also wet, so I guessed that he had just been surfing.

  I don’t know what made me think he was a surfer. I ju
st did. But he was more than that. I knew instinctively that he was a predator. Both my parents had been blessed or cursed with the gift of insight. They understood people: recognised their secret sorrow, sometimes even their joy, but more often their sadness. I had inherited their gift – a gift that intensified as I grew older, the gift of the Dream Catcher - yet, even at seventeen, I understood his heart. It was easy to see he was a predator; anyone could see that. He didn’t so much look at us as undress us, and when he glanced across at Davey I knew what he was thinking. That part was easy; I saw the lust and the hunger but I also saw the loneliness and the isolation. He was a predator but he was a wounded one. That could make him very dangerous.

  ‘You’re a surfer?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been watching you.’

  I bet you have, I thought.

  ‘I thought perhaps you could do with some help. I could give you some tips to improve your surfing.’ He glanced at Davey again who was sitting still wrapped in towels.

  I waited for him to understand. I knew what it was. He had seen us holding hands and had come to all the wrong conclusions. The surfers hated us; they shouted ‘fags’ after us and threw stones. He was very uncertain and I had no intention of helping him out.

  ‘The surfers here hate us,’ I said. ‘Why should you want to help us?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not part of them!’ he said quickly. ‘They don’t like me either.’ He was watching Davey, still.

  ‘Ah well, you better make yourself useful, I suppose,’ I said. I pointed to a bag. ‘There’s a pot of coffee there and milk and sugar. You can make us all coffee. We both like it without sugar and my brother likes it black.’

  Steve was looking at Fallon. ‘It won’t bite me, will it?’ he asked nervously.

  ‘She’s a guide dog for Christ’s sake,’ I said, and started to pull out Davey’s clothes.

  The penny dropped.